


Four Eyes

by YumKiwiDelicious



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Hockey boyfriends, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, bros, minor blood, non-hockey injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:08:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25521844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YumKiwiDelicious/pseuds/YumKiwiDelicious
Summary: Ransom was still crying, but Holster couldn’t seem to get any more words past his throat. The other young man would be fine, Lardo would handle it. He wasn’t mad at Ransom, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe that would come later? Maybe after all this was said and done, he’d hate Ransom; never want to talk to him again. But the thought of that was almost worse than losing the eye.|| Hurt!Fic ||
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz/Justin "Ransom" Oluransi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 52





	Four Eyes

“Hey, Rans, you think Lardo would let me get a hammock in here?”

Justin looked up from the homework he was barely pretending to work on. He was having a dying reef day, no  _ good  _ work was going to get done and it had put him in a foul mood. Holster had been trying to alleviate it all day to no avail, only managing to annoy his roommate further.

“No. Where would you even hang it?”

“I can clear out that corner and put some hooks in the wall.”

Adam pointed to the corner of their bedroom that currently housed the laundry basket, a collection of 30 Rock box sets, and the guitar that he begged for but never played. Not yet, anyway. He’d get around to it soon, honest. Ransom scoffed and turned back around.

“Don’t you know anything about support beams?” he grumbled, “The hooks’ll tear right out. You’ll wind up on the floor crying over your broken ass.”

Holster stifled a laugh as he lowered himself onto his stomach, propping his chin on his crossed arms, the carpet beneath him slightly itchy from too much starch. He studied his best friend’s profile admiringly and pressed on, determined to get a smile out of the sour puss. 

“What about the ones that hang from the ceiling? Y’know, like that woven one with all the strings that Farmer has on her porch?”

“Those things are death traps, Adam. You’ll get one of the strings tangled around your neck and die hanging like two inches off the ground. That the way you want to go?

Holster squinted at him accusingly, playfully. “You never like it when I get cool shit.”

Ransom returned his squinty glare though far less playfully. He wasn't really in the mood for the nonsense right now. “Why do you even want a hammock? Just camp out on the couch.”

“You mean the couch that has a decades worth of grime on it and is regularly occupied by Chowder? Nah. That’s a timeshare lounge space, I want my own property.”

“Then have fun blowing your paycheck on some weird stringy alien pod, man.”

“I already blew my paycheck hiring that plumber to come check out your pipes,” Adam grouched, finally catching his friend’s poor attitude, “He should be coming to get that stick out your ass any second now.”

The next thing Holster knew, Ransom’s socked foot was colliding with the left side of his face. He smiled into the attack, glad he had riled the other lineman into finally abandoning his desk, but then with a sickening crack, he felt the left lens of his glasses shatter under Ransom’s heel, the glazed surface caving in under the force.

A second later, he screamed the loudest “ _ FUCK _ !” his lungs could handle. It rang in his eardrums, ripping out his throat as sharp, inhumane agony shot from his left eye to every nerve in his brain. He quickly pulled the frames off his face before rolling to his side, confused panic overriding his instinct to keep screaming.

“Shit!” Ransom shouted, nasty mood forgotten immediately. He scrambled over. “Adam, are you okay!?”

Holster wanted to spit back something humorous and light but all the air he was gasping in was catching his throat. He was in pain. He was in shock. Both of his eyes were shut tight and on impulse he reached up to finger the source of pain

“No,  _ don’t _ !” Justin yelped. Catching his friend's arm in a vice like grip. The blonde cautiously opened his intact eye, which was so full of tears he can barely see, and his roommate let out a string of curses completely unlike himself. “Leave it in! I’m calling 911!”

Next thing he knew, Ransom was dashing from his line of sight. The last Holster saw of him was his green shirt darting from the doorway. Adam knew Justin had left his cell phone downstairs in an attempt to focus more fully on his studies, but beneath the pulsing agony that is his eye, he registers a confusing sense of abandonment. A fear of being left alone. He curled his knees close to his chest, his brain a medley of conflicting signals.

What was confusing was that after the initial sharp, excruciating entry, it didn’t actually feel  _ that  _ bad. Worse than most things, but less than others. Or maybe that’s just the adrenaline and the shock. Or maybe he hit his head? He’s had several concussions in his life, too many to count with a history in hockey like his, but rationally he knows that he can’t have a concussion. Or maybe he did? If Ransom’s foot was strong enough to shatter eight millimeters of glass, then maybe the force was strong enough to knock something loose in his brain. All he knew was that there was blood trickling down from the corner of his eye, and something very sharp embedded in the thin skin of his lid.

And it hurt. It really fucking hurt. Sharp. Pulsing. Stinging. Like the time he got a piece of Plexiglas wedged in his palm, but a thousand times worse. Like the splinter in his thumb that he never took out and it dissolved under his skin, leaving behind a brown stain that took over a year to fade.

It hurt. 

He felt like he might throw up, or black out, and it took every shred of self-control not to yank the shard out right then and there. And why shouldn’t he? Sure, in first aid class they said to leave stuff in, but that’s just to prevent bleeding, right? It’s not like he’s going to die of blood loss from his eyelid. There aren’t any arteries there. Or are there? Ransom would know, but Ransom had left. Either way, his hands were itching to pull it out, but Justin told him not to.

He heard footsteps running up the stairs. Multiple sets. Then Ransom was back in the room, and Lardo and Bitty were with him.

“Sweet  _ Jesus _ , Justin, what did you do to him!?” Bitty snapped, crouching down by the much larger blonde’s side to rest a hand on his shoulder. He had a wet cloth in his hand but was apparently afraid to apply pressure anywhere. 

“They said the ambulance should be here soon; like six minutes. They told me to just leave you like this.” 

Justin was clearly spiralling out of control.Holster scrambled for something to say. Something funny. Something witty. That was his job, to make Justin laugh; to make him  _ happy _ . An impaled eye is no excuse to take a day off! He mentally cycled through several incoherent comebacks, but then he heard Ransom sniffling above him.

Hesitantly, he opened his right eye, wincing as the movement caused him to involuntarily squeeze his left. Bitty was crouched right by his head and Lardo was frowning very seriously in the doorway. But Ransom...Ransom was crying. Hard; snot running down his nose, tear tracks staining his cheeks. Adam panicked, and did the only thing he could think of... 

He put on a smile that probably made him look completely deranged and muttered, “Hey, what’s with the waterworks?”

“I’m sorry. I’m s-so sorry.” Ransom choked on the apology, sucking snot back up into his nose, gasping between words.

“It was an accident, it’s okay.” Holster was genuinely surprised by how calm his voice sounded. He wondered if that was the shock, or if he’s just an impressively chill person. Bittle and Lardo both shot his irritated looks at the dismissiveness of it all. Justin just continued to blubber.

“You have a piece of glass in your fucking eye, t’s not okay!” he hissed with a hint of frustration, as if he were annoyed by Holster’s implication that this wasn’t the literal end of the world. “I was in a shitty mood and I h-hurt you! I hurt my best friend!”

“They’ll get it out. It’ll be fine,” Holster replied, placidly, wondering how the situation had turned into one where  _ he  _ was the one doing the comforting of  _ Ransom _ .

Suddenly though primal terror coursed through him as it dawned on him that he might  _ not  _ be fine. He might never see out of his left eye again. It might have to be removed. Then his already shitty vision would be reduced by half.  _ Would he have to give up hockey? Would he have to wear a patch?  _ And then he thinks the dumbest possible thought in the history of dumb thoughts:

_ Would Ransom think he was ugly with only one eye? _

These thoughts came rapidly and hit him like a wayward puck. His numbness receded vindictively. He wanted some fucking morphine. He wanted whatever Shitty got when he had his wisdom teeth removed. He wanted to tap out for a while; tap out of consciousness, out of thinking. He wanted to wake up in the hospital with everything in between blacked out.

Ransom was still crying, but Holster couldn’t seem to get any more words past his throat. The other young man would be fine, Lardo would handle it. He wasn’t mad at Ransom, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe that would come later? Maybe after all this was said and done, he’d hate Ransom; never want to talk to him again. But the thought of that was almost worse than losing the eye.

He felt sick.

Before his thoughts could spiral any further, Adam heard the faint sound of a wailing siren. It gradually drew closer, pulled right up to the Haus, and the relief of imminent rescue gifted him with another wave of indifference. Everything would be fine.

“I’ll go down and get them,” Lardo said, her first words during this entire debacle, before darting back out the door and down the stairs.

The rest passed in a blur. Holster wondered if he drifted off at some point, but that couldn’t be right since he seemed to remember everything, even if it felt like he was a coma patient in one of those horror stories. The ones where the person can see, hear, and feel everything, but are powerless to move or speak.

One of the medics crouched down low and asked if he could walk. He tried, but as soon as they got him sitting upright, a hurricane of dizziness sent his head spinning and he went limp in Bitty's arms. The little guy is surprisingly strong. So Medic #1 wrapped his arms around his chest as Medic #2 grabbed his legs, and Holster couldn’t help but be amused as they struggled to get his gargantuan vessel of pure hockey muscle down the stairs and onto a waiting stretcher.

“Pain on a level of one to ten?” Medic #1 asked after they loaded him into the ambulance.

Holster tried to think about it. It was painful, yes, but comparatively, was it really that bad? Getting his tooth knocked loose on the ice last year had hurt much worse, although that was partially his own fault since he’d hid it until it got infected because he was so scared Ransom would get upset with him for not saying anything.

“Adam, can you hear me? Scale of one to ten?”

Oh right, he’d forgotten he was in an ambulance.

He thought on it a second longer, then answered with a respectable “Six.” 

It’s more like a 7.5, but he didn’t want them to think he’s some lacrosse wuss.

The rest of the ambulance ride passed in a blur as he tried to focus on the sound of Justin’s voice. Justin was answering all the questions for him. His age, his parents, his blood type, his allergies. He really did know everything about Adam. He started talking about Holster’s various concussions and other medical mishaps; his astigmatism and all the ear infections he got as a kid. Ransom must have known he was rambling, but Holster liked it, and the medics made no move to shut him up.

After either an eternity or three minutes, they arrived at the hospital, at which point it hit Holster that he really couldn’t see for shit. Everything was blurry! The posters in the hallway, the faces of the nurses, even the ceiling lights were just vague patches of yellow with a metallic outline. He just kept reminding himself that his right eye was still intact. He would get new glasses; he’d be able to see everything again, even if his depth perception was permanently fucked.

They gave him anesthesia. At some point he heard Lardo’s voice, felt a hand carding through his hair. He looked around for the outline of Ransom’s green shirt, and spotted him standing too far away. He was suddenly anxious that he’d never see Ransom’s face in proper detail ever again. Except he couldn’t really feel physical anxiety, the drugs wouldn’t allow it. Instead it was just a hypothetical worry; something to wake up to and deal with later.

Splotchy darkness seeped around him.

Then he saw light again. Still vague, still undefined, but he was slightly aware of the fact that he must have been conscious at that point.  _ Why was he unconscious to begin with? What’s he doing in the hospital? _ He didn’t really have the energy to look around, but that felt more like laziness than true inability. Adam was also aware that he felt really,  _ really  _ good. His arms were light and his toes were warm. There were words falling out of his mouth, but they must have been getting scrambled because they sounded like gibberish when they made their way back up to his ears.

He drifted off again; maybe he slept, maybe just took some time to relax inside his own head, but he didn't’ get to enjoy the tranquility for long before he heard an unfamiliar man talking above him.

Adam tried to pry his eyes open, and panicked for a moment when only one complied. However, he calmed down when Lardo's face came into focus. She was leaning close to him, the edge of her hoodie draping on the blanket over Holster’s chest.

“Did you hear what the doctor just said, Holster?”

Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. He recalled picking out and recognizing most of the words, but when stringing them together they didn’t quite add up. Lardo took pity on him.

“He said your eye is fine. The glass didn’t hit your cornea. It should heal just fine and your vision shouldn’t be any worse.”

After a second of processing, Holster’s mouth curled into a smile. Everything was alright. He was fine. All the worst case scenarios were ancient history. This was nothing more than an annoying field trip. Another stop to the chop shop. Something to add to his lengthy resume of medical mishaps. No big deal. Everything was great.

“Can’t say I’ve seen anything like this before.” Holster turned his gaze to the unfamiliar man looming over him. “We occasionally get construction workers and such in here for accidents of the ocular nature, but this is the first time I ever even heard of someone getting impaled by their own glasses. You’re a medical marvel, kid. And your friend’s got a sturdy set of legs on him.”

“Is Ransom still here?”

To his surprise, the words came out coherently, or maybe that was just from his point of view and he was still talking nonsense. But no, they must have been intelligible, because there was a green blotch approaching from his right, coming to stand awkwardly at the side of his bed.

“What’s with you?” Adam asked.

“I almost blinded you, idiot.”

“I was already blind. Don’t sweat it.”

He brought his hand up to lightly pat Justin’s cheek, but the trajectory was off and it just grazed his friend’s chin before falling uselessly against his own chest.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Ransom swore, “Seriously, anything. Just please don’t sue me.”

“Relax, the judge wouldn’t side with me anyway. You’re too cute.” His roommate snorts an annoyed laugh but then that look is back from their room. The look that says Rans is about to start ugly crying in front of all these people and Adam reaches out his hand once more and finds his. He rubs his thumb clumsily over the other lineman’s knuckles. “I’m fine.”

His best friend in the entire world nodded and managed to hold back his completely legitimate and not at all effeminate tears. Lardo called them back to order, reminding that Bittle was waiting in the car. The doctor gave Adam some pretty basic care instructions and a firm demand to return in a week's time for a check up and then they all trudged from the room, Adam propped on his friends’ shoulders. At the car Bitty was all southern comfort and worry and ushered Adam into the backseat hurriedly promising his favorite pie that night after they got him home to rest. Holster slouched against Rans’ side and tried to fight the urge to fall back to sleep. They were holding hands and it made him feel even warmer than he ran usually.

“I really am sorry,” Justin whispered into his hair, his lips brushing the other young man’s scalp like a kiss. Adam purred at the contact. Lardo and Bitty were ignoring them.

“It’s fine, Rans,” he sighed tiredly, still not feeling any anger blooming towards his roommate. “I know you’d never hurt me on purpose, bro.”

“Never,” Justin agreed, tightening his grip on Adam’s hand, “I love you too much, bro.”

“Love you too.” And then he fell asleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was an odd piece to write because I don't think Rans would ever kick at Holster, not even jokingly. But i had this idea and...this may be the only OTP i have where one of them wears glasses??? I'm not sure, but they were the first that came to mind!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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